


i saw the flame reflected in your eyes

by robin_hoods



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Chair Sex, Dubious Consent, Gags, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robin_hoods/pseuds/robin_hoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and Theon is sure, he <i>knows</i> that Ramsay can feel him shaking beneath his hand</p>
            </blockquote>





	i saw the flame reflected in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> ...I actually had no idea whether to tag this with non-con or dub-con (or both), so if I'm wrong with my tags please, _please_ tell me. Or any of my tags at all, for that matter.
> 
> I wish I could entirely blame me writing this on [INCblacbird](http://incblackbird.tumblr.com/), but it's also because I watched Confine this afternoon and I couldn't get the image of Alfie tied up in a chair out of my head. (And whether you should watch Confine or not really depends on how much you like Alfie, tbh.)
> 
> And this might be a bit weird to say, but I kind of hope Ramsay isn't _too_ nice in this? I might write a sequel in which... things escalate.
> 
> I'm really sorry about the tablecloth imagery btw. I couldn't help myself.

Theon’s working on his computer one day, looking up job vacancies when he hears the front door slam and sees Ramsay pass the study, obviously in a bad mood. Theon shrugs to himself -- Ramsay’s in a bad mood more often than not, lately. His father shows up unexpectedly at the apartment, his mother is dead, some guy named Heke owes him money -- it never ends. He expects to hear the fridge door being shut angrily, but instead of the kitchen, Ramsay heads into their shared bedroom. A guy’s allowed a private wank every once in a while -- Theon knows all about that.

He skims the page he’s currently on, scrolls and scrolls, but there’s nothing listed he’s even remotely good at. After being fired four times in a row, he’s figured retail just isn’t his thing -- although he’s actually not too sure what his thing is supposed to be. Thankfully he still has some money from his inheritance so it’s not a big problem now.

Theon looks up from the laptop when the lighting coming from the hallway dims -- Ramsay is standing in the doorway, his coat still on. A raindrop slides over his forehead, to the tip off his nose, where it drops onto the carpet. Theon smirks, and Ramsay watches him intently.  He’s across the room in two steps, and Theon’s chair tilts back when he pushes it against the desk, Theon caught between his arms. Ramsay licks his lips, and breathes in deeply through his nose. Theon’s grin widens, and he reaches up to draw Ramsay closer, his knees touching the desk chair by now.

Theon tilts his head back slightly, and captures Ramsay’s lips with his own, his left hand trailing from Ramsay’s neck further downward, tugging off his coat. The chair leans further back when Ramsay puts one of his knees next to Theon’s leg, eagerly kissing him back. “What were you doing in the bedroom?” Theon asks when his mouth isn’t so occupied, and Ramsay leans back for a second to admire his handiwork. Theon can only imagine what he looks like now, red-faced, saliva on his chin, lips swollen.

“Nothing,” he says, and climbs onto the chair, knees on either side of him. Then his mouth is on him again, lips parting, tongue running over his teeth, and he’s tugging Theon’s hands down while he’s kissing and nipping a trail down Theon’s neck. He groans, can see Ramsay moving  through half-lidded eyes, too distracted by his hard-on to care much about anything except Ramsay’s mouth on him. His right hand is in Ramsay’s long unruly hair, until Ramsay untangles his fingers, and smiles when he puts it back on the armrest (although not before giving his index finger a thoughtful lick).

Only then does Theon notice his left arm has been tied down, and he stares at it, blinking in confusion. Ramsay pulls some more cloth out of his pocket and starts on his right, and Theon wiggles in his seat a bit, curling his hands into fists and stretching his fingers again.

“Not so impatient,” Ramsay says, looking up just as he’s made another knot, checking to make sure they’ll hold.

“I want to touch you,” Theon replies, lifting his hips for emphasis.

“You always do. Can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?” He seems satisfied with his work and moves his hips lightly against Theon’s. “Open your mouth,” he orders, and Theon frowns. “Have I ever done anything you didn’t like?” Ramsay persists, and Theon can think of a thing or two, but doesn’t protest and opens his mouth instead.

He’s not manhandled, but Ramsay is not particularly gentle either when he shoves a ball gag into Theon’s mouth, and ties it at the back of his head with a third piece of cloth. Theon’s suddenly not so sure if he likes this anymore. If he’s tied down, and gagged, there’s no way for him to say stop or even indicate he doesn’t like it. He groans, and tries to move, but Ramsay is too heavy, even when he’s mostly sitting on his knees and not on Theon’s lap.

He’ll untie him, Theon reminds himself. He always does. He will.

Ramsay reaches behind Theon and closes the lid off the laptop, “Unless you wanted someone to watch?” he asks, and slyly grins. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Like to have other people watching you get off, watching you take my cock into your mouth.” He takes his time unbuttoning Theon’s blouse, twisting a nipple between a finger and grinning widely when Theon whines. “It’s because you’re a dirty little slut who can’t get enough of attention, aren’t you?” The last part is whispered, and Theon bucks up his hips, getting a little desperate, not minding Ramsay’s words.

Ramsay gives him a meaningful look, and climbs off the chair. “I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving the room -- but not before turning off the lights.

Theon blinks once, twice. Besides the light coming from the hall, it’s dark in the study, and Theon can hear himself breathing in and out loudly through his nose, trying not to panic, trying not to choke. It’s just a gag, he tells himself. Ramsay’s gonna take it off when they’re done. And then he’s going to tell him that… that what? That he didn’t like it? They haven’t even done anything yet; he’s being a girl about this. And yet…

Sometimes, when he knows Ramsay doesn’t know he’s watching, he catches the oddest expressions on his face. And he doesn’t like them. Not one bit. They remind him of his uncle Euron, before he raped his uncle Victarion’s wife. Before Victarion killed her. Before they both went to prison. But Ramsay wouldn’t do that, right?

A drawer in the kitchen opens and closes, and Theon can hear the cutlery clang from where he’s sitting. It doesn’t take long for Ramsay to return, candle in hands, and he closes the door behind him. The candle is the only thing to light the room, and Ramsay sets it down behind Theon, the flickering flame casting eerie shadows on his face.

Theon glances up at him, and flexes his fingers. Ramsay kneels between his legs, and starts working on his belt, pulling it out of the loops and dropping it next to the chair. Theon’s stil hard, though not as much as before, and he moans when Ramsay palms him through his jeans.

“So loud,” Ramsay tuts, and pops his button open. “Good thing I gagged you, no?” Theon nods hesitantly, and presses his tongue against the gag ball and squeezes his eyes shut when Ramsay does it again, his jeans half-opened by now.

In a single move that could rival tablecloth magic, Ramsay has pulled his pants out from underneath him, discarding them somewhere behind him as well, and Theon sits in the chair in just his underwear and opened blouse with an obvious erection.

Ramsay leans forward and breathes, and Theon would have said ‘please’ if he could, ‘please stop teasing, please don’t do that, please put your mouth on me’ -- but even if he hadn’t been gagged he’s unsure whether he’d even been able to mutter anything but _please_ again and again. Ramsay hooks his thumbs into Theons briefs, and pulls them down as well, and the leather of the chair is warm by now and it feels so good, and so nice. He nearly sighs.

“Eager, as always,” Ramsay says, taking his time to lick his lips and rise from his kneeled position, keeping his eyes on Theon as he steps forwards and takes the candle from the desk, one of those tall ones that Theon bets Roose once gave to Ramsay. Or Walda, considering it’s a pink candle. “I know what to do about that.”

And Theon looks at Ramsay, at the candle, then back to Ramsay’s face, him nearly looming over him. A drop of wax slides over his hand, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Theon wriggles, and shakes his head. “No?” Ramsay asks, and Theon shakes his head again, this time a bit more ferociously. “That’s too bad,” Ramsay says, and tilts the candle.

Theon jilts up when one drop of wax hits his leg, and then another, and another. He tries to move out of the way, but Ramsay has him trapped, keeping his legs in place, and Theon can’t move and when he shakes the entire chair shakes with him. Ramsay uprights the candle again, and moves his free hand across Theon’s leg, fingernails brushing the wax that is already starting to crust.

Then, he moves over to the other leg, and Theon is sure, he _knows_ , that Ramsay can feel him shaking beneath his hand, but he still does it, traces a hot pattern of wax up the length of his leg until he reaches his hip, and stops.

Please, Theon thinks, and groans through the gag. Ramsay only looks at him through a curtain of dark hair, hair that Theon tugs behind his ears when he is close enough to do it, but his hands, his hands aren’t free, and why is he thinking something so ridiculous, so _mundane_ while he can feel the warmth of the flame on his skin?

Ramsay glances down, and Theon hasn’t even noticed but he’s not even hard anymore, doesn’t want, but need. Needs to stop and breathe and _think_. He jiggles a foot against Ramsay’s leg, but he takes no notice of it, and Ramsay puts the candle back on the table before using his hands to spread Theon’s thighs further apart.

His mouth is close, and his body is traitorous, as it just as easily responds to Ramsay now, despite the fact his heart is still hammering in his chest, that he can still feel the wax if he stretches his legs just so, and it itches _and he can’t move his hands_. So even while Ramsay licks and nudges and teases and eventually swallows him whole and Theon’s eyes roll towards the ceiling, he is still reminded of what just passed by the flickering shadows on the walls.

When Ramsay stands up, his mouth gleaming in the light of the candle, Theon thinks he knows that look, he’s seen it before. Never directed at him, not before, but it is now. Ramsay leans closer, until his lips are next to Theon’s ear.

And he blows out the flame.  



End file.
